


Running to stand still

by riverlethe (mwh120)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Pre-Series, early wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:32:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwh120/pseuds/riverlethe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam tries to fit in at high school by running track. Dean is worried what their father may think, and where all the running may end up..</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running to stand still

Fittingly it was in Oregon that Dean first learned that Sam was running track. They had been left on their own in some small town by their father – hustling out in the middle of the night, a pair of grim-looking, worse for wear hunters crowding after him. The boys, still half-asleep had looked on silently, Sam unconsciously crowding against Dean’s side, trembling slightly as Dean felt his brother’s anxiety build. His father had barely paused to say goodbye, a pile of cash and a credit card left on the dining room table and a swift “You know the rules and don’t get into any trouble” tossed over his shoulder as they swept out into the night. The house seemed suddenly empty, looming around them as they watched the tail lights of the car disappear like embers into the night. Sam had said nothing, lips pulled into a straight line, but later, as Dean lay awake listening to the myriad night-time rhythms of the old house, pipes groaning, panes rattling and the tree outside the window tapping out a ghostly staccato against the wall, he heard the floor-boards of his brother’s room creak and shortly afterward felt Sam slide silently into the bed, pressing a hand lightly against his back as if he were trying to re-assure himself that Dean was still there. It had been a long time since Sam had been shaken enough to let his vulnerability show like this, not since he had become a teenager at least, Dean thought, as he subtly exaggerated his breathing, bringing air down to his diaphragm and then out again, so that Sam’s hand would rise and fall as it rested on his side. Sam gradually grew less tense, his breathing sliding into the regular patterns of sleep, a gently whistling as he burrowed his head into the pillows, and Dean was able to let his own breathing slow. Just in time he noted wryly to himself, feeling slightly light-headed and a bit woozy for his efforts.

 

A phone call a few days later had let them know they were on their own for a while, and Sam had said nothing at the thought of several months without their father, merely furrowing his brow as he let his hair cascade down over his face as he glared at his untouched bowl of cereal. They fell into a well-worn routine, a façade of normalcy, school for the day, Dean waiting for Sam to meet him afterwards at the Impala for the trip home and dinner of pasta or hamburgers, or a meal that always started with salad on the evenings that Sam was cooking, his face wrinkled with concentration, mouth open as he laboured at the stove. Later, Sam would sit and work on his homework, radiating silent disapproval when Dean would give up the pretence of working, slam closed his dog-eared text books and slink out to play pool or drink beer in the park with the inevitable cluster of other underage, bored and bad-ass wannabe’s found in small towns anywhere, anytime. Often, Dean would find that Sam had left him the answers to the math assignments, neatly printed for him to copy when he got back, Sam long since having taken himself off to bed.

 

The mornings had darkened, then imperceptibly started to lighten again, rainclouds marching down the Willamette Valley, the sky slate-grey overhead. “Don’t need a ride home, I’m staying at the library.” Sam announced as they pulled up into the school one morning, and Dean shrugged, a side-long glance at his brother revealing an almost too-earnest look on his face. He was not being quite honest, Dean realized, but hey, it’s Sam, if it’s not the library it was probably something equally dorky. Sam had slid from the car, huffing what could only be described as a sigh of relief, and Dean shook his head in exasperation; he really would have to work on his brother’s ability (or lack thereof) to lie with a straight face sometime, he thought to himself. Whatever it was, Sam was duly missing from his customary spot near the Impala after class that day, and the day after, and as the weeks rolled by Dean stopped waiting for him at all, driving home alone in the afternoons refusing to acknowledge the slight pang he felt as he gazed at his brother’s empty seat beside him. Sam would say nothing when he finally arrived home just before dinner every night, and Dean refused to ask, sure he would be able to out-stubborn his brother (although he was beginning to think Sam could give lessons in being stubborn to the proverbial mule). The evenings passed in a blur of school assignments, or pool, and training exercises – Sam sullenly going along with that Hunter-crap as he called it, annoyed that Dean was making them carry on with it in the absence of their father.

 

Dean had been forced to go along with the rest of the class to the rally in the auditorium that afternoon, rolling his eyes at the buzz of excitement humming through the crowd as the music blared and a small group of cheer-leaders leaped about enthusiastically. Not as many cheerleaders as football season he thought, pissed off that there was not much else to do in the hick town they were stuck in, and glad it was his last year of school after all. Sitting outdoors on the stands at the track, Dean wondered if he could slip off unnoticed, or at least bum a smoke from one of the delinquents he was sure were lurking under the stands at that moment. His mood gradually softened as the afternoon wore on and it turned balmy, the sun played over the crowd, and he idly considered flirting back with the perky red-headed cheerleader shooting fairly heated looks his way. Suddenly he almost choked on his coke as the voice of the commentator, previously just white noise, caught his full attention. “ …and in lane 5, Sam Smith representing Prefontaine High School…” Dean’s head snapped round, staring at the track as the pistol fired, a sharp pop that cracked through the crisp air, ricocheting around and causing the a flock of birds, only just settling down after the last race to careen off into the air once again, flapping wings adding to the low hum of the crowd. His chest hurt, and he could feel the colour literally leach out of his cheeks as he watched Sam round the corner of the track, features tight with determination. At 5000m it was going to be a long race, and Dean could feel his temper start to rise. How could Sam bring attention to them this way? He fumed, every exhortation of his father bubbling to the surface, and he had to grind his teeth until his jaw hurt to stop himself from yelling at his brother from the stands. A cluster of girls in the seats below him, all in Sam’s class he realized, were whispering and pointing, and for a moment he felt himself looking out at Sam through a stranger’s eyes. Sam had grown up in the last year, he saw, legs still longer than his body, coltish in adolescence, but now more muscled than the string-bean legs he remembered. Sam’s arms pumped at his sides as he rounded the track again, biceps bunching with muscle that hadn’t been there a few months earlier, wispy hair under his arms now darkened with sweat. And Dean could only watch, breath catching in his throat in an unfamiliar way, mouth dry, as his brother hurtled round the track, knees pistoning as he ran down one after another of the runners strung out in front of him like coloured lures on a line drawing him closer to the finish. The crowd was on their feet now, shouting and erupting as Sam pulled in front, blue singlet sticking darkly to his heaving chest as he crossed the finish line. Dean sat there as the crowd slowly dissipated, the girls leaving together, clutching each others arms, still whispering and giggling about Sam, he was sure. And his own nerves were a jangled mess, the anger tumbling over with grudging pride at Sam’s win, more anger that Sam had so obviously gone behind his back to sign up, and mixing with something strange as he remembered the sun caressing the muscles of his brother’s legs as he ran, hair just beginning to grace his calves.

In the end anger won out as Sam finally came out of the change rooms and made his way down to the parking lot where Dean waited against the car, a dark shadow in the dim light of the early evening. “What were you thinking, Sam?” he growled, “Idiot! What is Dad going to say? You know how he hates it when we draw attention to ourselves, and look at you now, getting your picture in the paper and all.”. He wanted to take the words back as soon as they left his mouth, watching them spear through the distance between them and impale his brother. Watching as the elated grin skittered like a nervous horse and slid from Sam’s face, leaving only a look of undisguised anguish. Watching as Sam seemed to shrink into himself, roughly knuckling at his eyes before pulling his hoodie up as he slipped into the car. They drove home in silence, Dean furious now with himself, chagrin roiling through him as he thought desperately of a way to tell Sam how sorry he was. Sam a pool of darkness beside him, barely breathing, the moonlight making his eyelashes glitter with unshed tears in the recesses of his hoodie. “Sam..” Dean began, clearing his throat roughly, feeling that he had to say something as they pulled up to the house, “Sammy..”. But his brother turned suddenly, and said forcefully “No, Dean, I get it ok? You don’t have to say it again, I screwed up. I know what Dad wants, I know we can’t do normal stuff, ok. You win.” Dean felt his apology turn to little more than old ashes in his mouth, the extent of his brother’s heartache clear, and sat frozen, knuckles white around the steering wheel as Sam slid out of the car. Good job Dean, he thought sardonically, way to go being a good big brother. And Sam’s last words still rang in his ears, a cold sweat pricking its way to the surface, fine Dean, he heard, you and Dad can stop me from winning, but you can’t stop me from running.

 

And a few nights later, when their father returned, Dean felt even worse. Sam had spent the evening almost vibrating with anxiety as they ate dinner together, eyes burning a hole in his plate as his father, tired and drained of his usual energy answered slowly as Dean dragged from him grudging details of the job that had taken him off into the night. So what about you boys? his father finally had roused himself to ask. Any news? Sam could only look at Dean with a stricken look on his face, awaiting the worst, a look which was slowly replaced by one of pitiful gratitude when it became clear that Dean was not going to tell their father much of anything. And Dean had felt soiled, disgusted that maybe Sam was right, that their lives were so far from normal that Sam could actually feel _grateful_ that Dean had not told their father that he had won a race at school for chris-sakes.

 

They moved on shortly thereafter, another town, and then another. Their father began training them in earnest, curtly ignoring the wan unhappy look Sam wore almost constantly. Dean could feel him withdrawing, silent and grey with misery. At night Sam would sit at his desk, the light casting a glowing pool of light of the pile of books in front of him, shadows leaping around the room and across Sam’s face as pages turned. And Sam, feeling Dean’s eyes on him from the doorway, would hunch down, his hair pouring in dark waves around his face, hiding his eyes. Sometimes, as if he sensed Dean was on the verge of speaking, he would roll back in his chair and push the door shut without bothering to look over his shoulder, and Dean would stand listening to the scratch of his pen, or the tapping of keys, wishing he could find a way through.

 

They settled back in Kansas the next year, the winter snows giving way to spring as their father set off alone again. Dean had secretly hoped to go too, emotions warring inside him as he knew Sam would still need someone until he finished school for the year. He hoped that this time away from John might heal the divide slowly growing between him and Sam, but his brother remained as withdrawn as ever. The spring lengthened into summer, the smell of tilled soil and growing crops washing over the town from all sides, billowing clouds sailing sedately through azure skies. One morning, Sam was waiting downstairs for him, having made enough noise banging around the kitchen that Dean had groaned, first burrowing under his pillow, and finally giving up on sleep and stomping out of his room grumpily. He had been about to give vent to a volley of complaints, when he saw that Sam had laid him a place at the table, a mug of coffee steaming incandescently in the morning sun. His nose could identify a plate of bacon and maybe waffles, he was certain, carefully covered to keep warm for him. Dean hesitated for a moment before he slid into his seat, scratching his ass through the thin cotton of his boxers. He had to admit Sam made a great cup of coffee, he thought. His brother sat across from him, hair sliding down to cover one eye as he picked at the table mat nervously. “What gives” Dean asked, thumping on the ketchup bottle in front of him. “Umm…it’s just breakfast,” Sam said, attempting to pull off a look of wide-eyed innocence, but falling short of the mark. Dean quirked an eyebrow, giving him his patented don’t bullshit a bullshitter look, and Sam caved. “Look, it’s the last track meet of the season and I want you to come” he gushed, words running together nervously as he refused to meet Dean’s gaze, fingers rolling and unrolling the table mat. “I know you don’t like me running, but…” his brother trailed off and Dean felt his heart leap as the reason for the fairly blatant peace-offering became clear. “Sure” he muttered gruffly, “Maybe. What time?” trying to seem nonchalant and non-committal. And the smile of relief on Sam’s face meant finally that there was no way he would miss it, after all.

 

So Dean found himself slouched against the run-down bleachers outside the school, sunglasses hiding his eyes from the curious glances of parents and students, a few girls stopping to give him large grins on the way to and from the small kiosk set up nearby, doing a roaring trade in cold drinks and ice cream as the afternoon wore on. The sky had darkened almost imperceptibly, the moon now visible in the cerulean depths above, while the sun was a white hot disk sinking in the other direction. He heard Sam’s name being announced, almost missing the alias they were using in the stream of names that were being called out in a sing-song fashion. Sam took his place on the starting line, head poking up above the other runners, and Dean realized with a start that his brother may actually be taller than him, a fact that he had missed at home given Sam’s annoying habit of slouching. The race started with a sharp pop, making everyone around him jump. Dean felt sick, his heart beginning to skip as he watched the runners jockey for position. Sam had fallen to the back, and Dean cursed under his breath. He almost didn’t want to watch as the laps melted away and Sam seemed to be stuck in the middle of the pack. So subtly, Dean wasn’t sure for a moment it was happening, Sam seemed to increase his pace. Dean could see the lean muscles in his legs stretch tautly, Sam’s pale skin and the sheen of sweat allowing him to see the individual muscles bunching and releasing lazily at his knees, and ripple in his back. Sam looked almost predatory, a lean hunting cat slowly chasing down its prey on some primeval field, and Dean felt that now too-familiar catch in his throat. The last bell sounded, and as the runners rounded the last curve, he could see his brother’s face, flushed with the exhilaration of speed and movement, eyes almost closed as he pulled into the lead. Yes, Dean heard himself yell with the crowd, faster, faster Sammy! All pretence at decorum lost as he cheered him on, willing him to push on through the pain he knew would be burning through his muscles now.

 

Sam almost didn’t slow down at the end, pausing impatiently for the handshaking, and congratulations, feeling almost desperate to reach his brother. And Dean was there, glasses off, green eyes staring into his own. “Sam,” he said softly, “Sammy”, and pulled him into his arms. Dean felt Sam stiffen for a moment, and then collapse against him, Dean’s embrace all that kept him from the ground, Sam pushing against him as if he were trying to force his skin to give way. He could feel Sam’s hand on his back convulsively gripping his shirt, clenching and unclenching, feel Sam’s lips, cool against his neck, delicate as a butterfly as he whispered _deandeandeandean_ , a litany beating out a light counterpoint to the racing of Sam’s heart thudding against his chest. Dean stood there, almost floating, hand hot against the skin of Sam’s hip bone jutting against him, Sam’s sweat-crusted hair under his chin, the crisp, fresh Sam-smell enveloping him, and in that instant he could see the future, see their paths racing in front of him, see Sam’s need to run, to race away to try for picket fences and apple pie, to escape. And he would let him, let him go, because he knew it didn’t matter, _knew_ , more surely than he knew the sun would rise, that Sam would be back, that time and distance would fall away. That after all the blood and tears that would surely follow, that their love was all that mattered, all either really needed, and Sam would find all he was looking for here, here in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Joshua Tree album of course.
> 
> Characters property of CW, Kripke etc
> 
> A newbie, so any constructive comments appreciated!


End file.
